


Solicitation and Solace

by Kisatsel



Series: Equilibrium [2]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Bondage, Canon Era, Derogatory Language, Dirty Talk, Gags, M/M, Obedience, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Ties & Cravats, mutual slutshaming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-09
Updated: 2016-03-09
Packaged: 2018-05-25 18:47:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,365
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6206386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kisatsel/pseuds/Kisatsel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He is running late, which means that he is wasting precious minutes of their stolen hour; but as he is running late, Burr may already be there right now waiting for him, thinking of him, and anticipating Alexander’s arrival. These twin thoughts spin around his head, warming him and urging him onward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Solicitation and Solace

**Author's Note:**

> Here is a sequel to my other Hamilton/Burr fic, MONTHS after I posted that fic. Please heed the tags! There is some poorly thought out sexy name-calling going on here.
> 
> Huge thanks to [Peakgay](http://www.archiveofourown.org/users/peakgay) who is the main reason this story ever got past an outline.

It becomes a habit. Of course. Alexander has never shied from this particular vice. 

One day into their collaboration on the Weeks case he argues, convincingly, that working in the same room will greatly increase their efficacy. Burr mentions, offhand, that his office is undoubtedly more spacious and better organized. Alexander politely refrains from suggesting out loud that Burr wishes to avoid working at the desk over which they have very recently had carnal relations, though he does his best to convey this with his eyes. 

Of course, they must maintain a professional distance during working hours, and so they do. Though Burr would claim to disbelieve it, Alexander is sensible of the need to maintain a clear separation between business and pleasure. Hands, then, clutch quills; they sit side by side, two minds at work. Alexander recites the crucial details of the case and tests his own arguments by speaking them out loud, while Burr stays mostly quiet and thrusts pieces of paper towards Hamilton at regular intervals, half covered in his own precise proposals, and the other half crammed with sentences neatly tearing Alexander’s ideas apart. Alexander frowns, skims the pages and launches his own rebuttals, scribbling furiously. Far from dampening the blaze of Alexander’s intellect, Burr with his cool, narrow-eyed focus provides shape and purpose. Their arguments assemble themselves with remarkable speed. 

But the scrupulous reserve that they practice comes at a cost, and they pay this back to each other in darkened rooms late at night, or early, when the sun’s first rays are hitting the streets and New York slumbers around them. 

It is to one such meeting that Alexander now hurries. 

He is running late, which means that he is wasting precious minutes of their stolen hour; but as he is running late, Burr may already be there right now waiting for him, thinking of him, and anticipating Alexander’s arrival. These twin thoughts spin around his head, warming him and urging him onward. 

This -- infatuation of his -- consumes Alexander in quite a different way to the joy, solace and frustrations that marriage has brought him. 

After years of watching him with perplexity, he finally has Burr’s measure. He had informed Eliza as such after the first time, crowing (“Shall I tell you in inches, darling?”, marking out with his palms a distance just great enough to be scandalous); she listened to him tolerantly with a smile hiding behind her eyes, before she cut in that she had heard quite enough for now, and he could put his mouth to other uses if he pleased. 

But for all his boasting, he still struggles to make sense of Aaron Burr. Alexander has found the key, pushed open this door; and it has led him into a maze. Thus he painstakingly assembles the rules in his mind based on the clues Burr deigns to give him, maps out the fractured territory of Burr’s desires. He is a stranger in a new country again, experiencing once more the thrill of discovery and the fear that the welcome which he has longed for, _worked for_ , will be revoked. He will not permit this to happen. He will show Burr such wicked torments that Burr dreams of him every night and wakes, sweat-covered and alone in his bed, no longer sated by the release of his own hand. 

Caught in the urgency of this vision, Alexander almost walks into a lamppost. He draws to an abrupt halt, steps irritably around the iron pole and hurries towards the inn where Burr has assured him they will be accommodated with the utmost discretion. 

\---

The room is spare with wooden floorboards; Burr’s tastes do not run to the luxurious. But the bed is wide enough for two. Pale morning light creeps in through the open curtains. Hamilton shrugs out of his coat, tosses it over a chair, and pauses to lean against the door and breathe for a few seconds. 

Burr is a calm, grey-suited presence. Never one for unnecessary illumination, he is leaning against the far wall in a shaded corner by the window, looking fully at home. Alexander’s eyes fix on him and remain there. 

“Good morning, sir,” he greets Burr. 

“The same to you,” Burr says. “Did you run here?” He speaks with his usual tone of light irony, as if they’re sharing a joke. Alexander has never been quite sure what the subject of the joke is, and has often suspected it to be he himself. 

“I was delayed. I hope to compensate you for my lapse very shortly,” he says. Burr’s eyes widen slightly and Alexander feels the desire he has been holding in check settle heavy over him, every minute of the two days it has been since he was last inside Burr. 

Burr pushes himself away from the wall. “What did you have in mind?” 

“I want to have you on a bed.” Alexander smiles sharply. “And if you’re good, I’ll bring you off with my mouth later.” 

“You judge that ample compensation for the seven minutes I have spent waiting for you,” Burr says, then frowns as if he has given something away. 

Alexander generously does not remark on this. Instead he steps into the center of the room, removes his waistcoat and drapes it over the chair, then sits and bends down to remove his shoes. Being around Burr has always brought out in him the need to act more deliberately, to impress. 

When he looks up to see the effect this performance has had, he sees Burr watching with his mouth a flat line. Burr strides over, pulls Alexander up from the chair by the cloth of his shirt and kisses him, hot and demanding. Jerked upwards, Alexander’s heart thumps. He opens his mouth and allows Burr in. Burr’s hands tighten, pulling them closer together, and just like that Alexander is awash with a need so strong he reels from it. Reluctantly, he detaches himself. They breathe heavily for the space of a few seconds. 

“I see you share my wish to delay this no longer,” Alexander says. “On the bed. Remove your shirt and put your arms behind your back, please.” Burr looks at him, unmoved and unmoving. “If this is not to your tastes I shall simply head straight to my office, and no doubt complete a good deal of work without your continual interfering comments.” He would, though it would leave Burr seething and himself sorely disappointed.

“As we both know, you place great value on a quiet office,” Burr says dryly. He’s already turning and walking over to the bed, shedding his clothes with measured movements, arranging himself as requested and then turning his hooded, anticipatory stare on Alexander. Alexander crosses the room with quick step. 

He notes, startled, that Burr is kneeling on the bed without Alexander having asked this. Settling himself in front of him and placing his hands on Burr’s shoulders, Alexander kisses him luxuriously. Burr allows Alexander to explore his mouth, stays still but for the gentle movements of his lips and the slight trembling of his shoulders.

“Oh,” Alexander says softly into Burr’s mouth. “You’re actually doing what I asked.” 

“Is this,” Burr says, “displeasing to you? Should I invent some criticisms of your manner and technique in order to reassure you?” 

“Invent, hm?” Alexander glances down at where his cock presses noticeably against his breeches.

“Congratulations; I find you satisfactory in this regard,” Burr says shortly. “Why don’t you remind me why that is?” 

A small laugh escapes Alexander’s lips. “We have been on the bed all of a minute,” he teases. “And seven minutes of waiting. Is there something you want, Burr?”

Burr purses his lips. 

“On your back.” Burr stretching himself out on the bed before him is a welcome sight, too good for Alexander to keep up any pretense of aloof distance; he follows Burr down and grabs his hands, pressing them to the headboard, and then kisses his way back down the expanse of torso to remove Burr’s breeches. 

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a scarf of Eliza’s that he tucked in his pocket on his way out this morning, loops it around Burr’s wrists and through the slats of the headboard and ties it with a careful knot. The contrast of the white, lace-trimmed cotton against Burr’s dark skin is striking, and Alexander lingers there, sprawled alongside him, laying kisses across his fingers and upturned palms. Burr’s shiver is small but gratifying. 

“I like you like this.” Alexander says, letting the truth of it color his voice. There is a different quality to Burr’s stillness in this position, waiting not to act but rather to be acted upon. 

“I know,” Burr says. “Did you think yourself subtle in your affections towards me?”

“If subtle is what you desire from me, you have but to say so.” Alexander sets his teeth gently against Burr’s neck and then presses in a little harder, flicking his tongue against the patch of skin he has caught in his mouth. “Till then I will act as I see fit.”

By the time he has worked his way back down and begun to suck bruises into Burr’s chest, Burr is breathing deep and ragged. Alexander feels the warm air tickling his face when kisses Burr again, small, teasing presses of his lips against the corner of his open mouth. 

Burr catches Alexander’s lip in his teeth and tugs at it, demanding his attention. “I cannot touch you like this,” Burr says, slowly, like he’s trying out the taste of the words. 

“That’s true.” Alexander agrees. He runs his hands over Burr’s chest and shoulders possessively.

“So take something off, and then I will at least be able to look at you.”

Burr does not beg; rather, he negotiates, as if making some shady backroom deal. He will beg soon enough. 

But for now his idea is sound. Alexander strips off quickly and then strokes himself, casting his eyes over Burr, just for the surprised groan that this induces. Burr himself is half erect, growing visibly harder as he looks on greedily at Alexander seeking his own pleasure. 

Burr draws his legs up, feet planted flat on the sheets, so that he is exposed to Alexander. It is as calculated as anything he’s ever done, and Alexander feels a curious pride: two weeks ago Burr considered this anathema. “Stay there,” Alexander says, nonsensically, and scrambles off the bed to retrieve the small jar of oil he tucked in his inner coat pocket. 

His fingers well-slicked, he presses one gradually into Burr’s entrance and follows it with another as soon as he adjusts; Burr rocks back onto him, tilting his hips up. Burr’s fingers are opening and closing, grasping onto nothing, his whole body betraying his need. 

“More,” Burr says. In this they are perfectly attuned, Burr yielding so beautifully for him, Alexander’s whole body tightening with the need to push harder, get closer. 

He opens Burr up efficiently, thrilling at the license Burr has granted him. Alexander has always enjoyed seeing his own words take effect. “You were made for this,” he says, twisting his fingers, “and now you know it, and I will not permit you to forget it.”

“Alexander,” Burr chokes out. Burr takes great care to use only Alexander’s surname during work hours, but naked, _Alexander_ slips out over and over. For Alexander’s part, despite his reckless demands for intimacy, he stumbles and hesitates over _Aaron_. Burr’s cock is leaking, leaving a small trail on his quivering stomach, but he will not ask to be touched there, so he will not be granted it. 

Despite his careful stretching Burr is tight around him as Alexander presses into him until he is fully sheathed. Burr hisses out a breath and stretches his lips wide in a smile, his face lit up with greed. Alexander rakes his eyes over him; he waits just long enough for Burr to open his mouth and squeeze his eyes closed, then pulls slowly out. Burr tilts his head up, straining towards him. Alexander pushes in, the heat of him chokingly good, and lets himself thrust in earnest.

Burr gives full voice to his cries, as if he knows how this spurs Alexander on. 

“Out of words already?” Alexander pants. 

Burr glares; he begins to speak, breaks off as Alexander rolls his hips, gathers himself visibly to try again. “I tried this with my own fingers,” Burr says. 

“Tell me,” Alexander demands, knowing his need is showing from his face, his voice, his ragged breaths. 

“Tell you what?” Burr thinks he may dole out crumbs to Alexander, even as his body pleads for more. 

“How did it feel? What did you think of?” Alexander’s head floods with images, answers to his own question; his mind is layered with visions of Burr in his study, at his home entwined with the beautiful Theodosia, or seeking solace elsewhere.

But here, now, Burr’s attention is fixed wholly on Alexander, though he remains stubbornly quiet. 

Alexander a stab in his chest, and cannot tell if it is tenderness or rage; it is not the first time in his life he has found the two to be almost indistinguishable. 

“I’ve heard that you visit whores,” he says roughly. “I wonder what you ask them for.” He accentuates his words with hard snaps of his hips, the room filled with the obscene sound of skin against skin. “Was there any madame who made you feel as desperate, as well-claimed, as you do when I fuck you?” 

He sees Burr jerk, his fists clench, and the thought penetrates through the haze of lust that perhaps he has gone too far, spoken too freely. 

“Just you now,” Burr gasps, and clenches around Alexander, his head thrown back, lips twisting in a wild grin. “Your mother’s son through and through.”

Alexander’s hips stutter. The phrase is familiar, and strikes at something cold and hollow that rings like a bell, reverberating through him, rendering him dumb. 

He will not-- he is not to be used, or spoken to, in this manner. It is not to be endured. 

He forces himself to open his eyes. Burr mouth is hanging open; his face is uncharacteristically open, shock written across it, along with something else-- guilt, or fear perhaps.

“Burr,” Alexander says. He holds himself still until words return to him, and does not pull out. “You seem to break with your customary discretion at the worst possible times.”

“Alexander,” Burr says uncertainly. 

“I’ve heard all I need to,” Alexander says. Burr is so tight around him, so good, always so good. 

His clothes, hastily discarded, lie in a pile next to them; Burr wears cotton cravats, but Alexander likes to wear silk, soft against his fingers. He takes his own cravat in one hand and presses his fingers to Burr’s mouth. Burr opens up automatically for him. Alexander folds the cravat in two and places it over Burr’s mouth, running his thumb over Burr’s lower lip. He pushes the material in a little further, between Burr’s neat white teeth. 

“Lift your head up,” he says. Burr does so. He ties the material behind Burr’s head and runs his hand over his cheek. 

“I much prefer you this way,” he says. Alexander starts to move again, chasing his climax, and Burr shakes beneath him and meets his every thrust. 

It’s too much, a tumbling avalanche picking up speed for the crash, and he comes with his eyes tightly closed and his hands digging into Burr’s shoulders. 

In the aftermath, once he’s pulled out and opened his eyes, he lifts his head to observe Burr tied up and gagged for him, hard and pleading wordlessly, reduced finally to the creature of mindless desperation Alexander has been yearning to make of him for days, weeks-- years.

Alexander slides one finger back into him to feel the wetness of his own release. 

“I shan’t kiss you,” he says. “A whore doesn’t kiss. Would you like my hand on you?”

Burr has closed his eyes and is moaning from behind the gag. He shudders when Alexander strokes a hand down his chest, past his cock, to tap his knuckles lightly against his thigh. 

“Open your eyes. Ask me to touch you.” 

Burr opens his eyes. He makes a noise, low and broken, which almost has the shape of words. 

Never before has he been this open for Alexander. Burr might promise anything, if he were able to speak. Alexander breathes heavily as he looks him over and tastes, bitter in his throat, the elegant taunts that he could lay now on Burr if he wished.

Burr sobs quietly. 

Alexander swallows the words, grips Burr firmly and begins to stroke him. From behind the silk cloth Burr lets out a broken cry and comes, trembling under his ministrations. Alexander leans in to press his face against Burr’s thigh and run his hands through the mess on his belly. 

He crawls up Burr’s body and rests a hand behind his head, tilting it upwards so that he can pick apart the hastily tied knot and pull the spit-damp cloth from his mouth, dropping it on the sheet next to them. Next, the scarf, Eliza’s lace scarf: Burr’s skin has chafed where he pulled against his bonds, so Alexander unwinds it as gently as he can and presses his mouth to his wrists. He lingers there, eyes closed, knees enclosing Burr’s torso, laving his tongue over the skin, so that he does not have to look Burr in the eyes. 

When his knees begin to ache, he shuffles back down and places his head on Burr’s shoulder, burying his face in the warm skin.

They lie there side by side, breathing onto each other for a space of time, Alexander cannot say how many minutes. 

“Alexander,” Burr says, mouth close to his ear. “Look at me.”

“Must I so soon,” Alexander says, his voice small. He attempts to collect himself. _You know as well as I that kindness is a double-edged sword, Burr,_ he thinks, and does not say it. 

Burr makes no reply. Alexander wriggles round until he’s pressing into Burr’s side, an arm slung over his chest. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers in Burr’s ear, tracing small circles onto his chest with one finger. 

“What for?” Burr says with lazy, sated amusement. 

Alexander pauses to consider. “I permitted myself to be more selfish than usual.”

“You were selfish from the start.” A Burr-ian needle, held ready and poised for his moment of vulnerability; but today, he finds its pricking oddly reassuring. “I have not stopped you,” Burr continues. He sounds thoughtful. That soft, considering arrogance: in this moment it is very dear to him.

“I am glad, for I have hardly even begun to enumerate my wishes,” Alexander says, hiding his smile in Burr’s shoulder. “But as for you, Aaron.” He trails his hand up over Burr’s neck and rests it on his jaw. 

“Do not say that to me again,” he says, pressing down gently with his fingers for emphasis. “And if I hear mention from other men of your snide implications regarding my origins, I will not hesitate to find you, and hold you to account.”

“You should have no trouble,” Burr says. “I work next door to you.” 

A sudden laugh spasms its way out of Alexander's chest. “Hmm. Work,” he says, with all the disgust he can imbue in the latter word. He slept but four hours last night and though the room is cheap, the sheets stained even before they arrived, it has served them well, and the piles of jotted notes they have amassed in Burr’s office hold little appeal.

Burr rolls him over, fits himself on top of Alexander and looks down at him with concentrated irony. “Disavowing your duties, Hamilton? Surely I misheard you.”

“A few minutes longer,” Alexander says, beguiling as he knows how to be. “The day has hardly yet begun, and I have not quite finished.” He lays his hands on Burr, his damp skin gleaming in the morning light, and pulls him down to kiss slow and soft.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments are loved! I'm kiwisatsuma on tumblr.


End file.
